A Christmas love letter

Dear mom,

It's been a long time since I've written you a love letter. I'm sure the last one came in the form of a heart, crudely cut from red craft paper, with a pasted-on declaration of love from a young boy who still loved snuggling in his mother's arms.

I decided to write this letter tonight as I was walking to my car after visiting you. It's such a beautiful night. The snow is so light everything looks like it's covered in muslin. It's still cold enough that the snow squeaks beneath my boots. There's hardly any traffic so the city is quiet.

I'm describing all this to you because I know you can't see it from your bed in the cancer ward.

I imagine it's similar to those magical Christmases you used to tell us about when we were younger. Those Christmases long past when your father would spend hours in the bush looking for the perfect tree, and would cut extra branches to fill in any bare spots when he brought it home.

You cherished those memories and made them so real to us. Your love of the holiday season helped dad see what he had missed growing up in a house that wasn't quite as enthusiastic about Christmas as yours had been. You were always so excited Christmas morning, you would wake me and my brothers from our slumber to race downstairs. In most houses, it's the other way around, with the children bouncing on their parents' beds at six in the morning.

You loved Perry Como and would get misty-eyed when he crooned I'll Be Home For Christmas or White Christmas. Dad and I were never big on large family get-togethers and I know that was hard for you, someone who grew up in a tiny house with a giant family.

You probably don't remember much of it, but I sat with you for most of the afternoon yesterday. I experienced many different emotions as I watched you sleep on the couch, the fireplace channel on in the background.

I was terribly sad seeing you not enjoying what was always your favourite day of the year. I remember, as a small boy, sitting next to you on the couch on Christmas Eve, just quietly looking at the tree while listening to Christmas carols.

I smiled thinking of how each year you promised we would have to cut back on the number of presents, only to break that promise every year.

I thought about how you carefully saved all the bows and ribbons to re-use the next year since money was tight and dollar stores were non-existent back then.

I experienced all these emotions and more before having to call the ambulance because you ran a fever, something that's deadly serious to someone with a white-blood cell count of zero because of the chemo.

So this letter it my way of letting you know that even though you spent Christmas Eve and Day in the cancer ward, you were as close to my heart as you've ever been. I told your granddaughter Claire about your wonderful Christmases as a young girl and showed her your mom's ornaments that you passed on to us when grandma died.

I told her about the magical Christmases you and dad always provided for us, no matter what our financial situation was.

Mom, I don't know what the future holds. I don't know what next year will bring. And I'm afraid.

But I want you to know no matter what happens, I love you with all my heart and that my wish for the coming year is for you to continue to experience that love from your family.

And that you find peace.

Love,
Jason